End of the Beginning - Cami Yee
Cami Yee is a senior at Westmont in Campbell, California.
Exhilarated and filled with the unmistakable buzz of emotion before a game, I laced up my cleats and ran onto the field, smiling with a light, satisfied feeling in my chest. From the loud hum of the overhead lights to the feel of the synthetic turf under your feet, everything seems sharper and clearer on the field. It was January 3rd, 2023, a normal Tuesday when my life changed. Oblivious, I did a couple of jumps, a ritual before every game, and stepped out to the field. Near the 74th minute, we were on defense with a tight lead. I ran back to help defend when my center back cleared the ball. Straight into my head. Instantaneously, the floor swam as I lay on the ground, numb. With a history of five concussions, I painfully knew in the back of my mind that my soccer career, my joy, my outlet, my sport, was over. Despite how much I wondered and wished, nothing would change that moment. I have replayed these moments in my head dozens of times. I wondered, wished, yearned, but nothing would change that moment.
But everything else changed. As a result of my abundance of concussions, I was forced to medically retire from soccer. I experienced the stages of grief like never before. I mourned my losses as my mind slowly attempted to repair irreversible damage. On the field, I felt out of place with my team, awkwardly trying to achieve that same sense of camaraderie we had when bonded together on the field. Sitting out felt isolating. I put on my cleats, but when I stepped on the field, I felt a heaviness and unspeakable sadness like a weight on my shoulders. Soccer had been a part of me, a part of my identity and I struggled with the notion of not playing. How can 12 years of soccer be gone in an instant? I wondered.
Eventually, I found words for what I was feeling. It took time—months, really—but I started talking about it, sharing my struggles, opening up about the emotional toll. Slowly, the raw edges of grief started to soften. But the pain didn’t disappear. By the time club season rolled around, I was emerging from that heavy cloud of regret. I still wasn’t fully healed, but I was ready to begin again
I contacted an old teammate of mine, someone who also went through the trials of a medical retirement. She told me she found something she loved to fill up the space soccer left– but it took time. Hearing this, I felt hopeful for the future even if a part of me was still wishing for the past. I realized that although my journey wasn’t what I had expected, there was still an abundance of value in what I had. Almost 6 months later, I regained my old feeling of freedom when I stepped on the field. I started finding a passion for coaching and with the help of my coach, I began acting as an assistant for my club team. By watching Tottenham games and old film, I learned and discovered my love for the strategy of the game, understanding it intimately from a different perspective. I took notes and observed tendencies of other teams to enhance our execution.
I once thought my concussions were the worst thing that had ever happened to me. However, I can now understand that without the hardships and struggles, I wouldn’t be where I am today. It was in the depths of my grief that I learned the most about myself– how to persevere, find happiness again, and overcome adversity. I found a happiness even greater than I thought possible, making me enjoy soccer even more than when I played. Finally, I rekindled that unmistakable buzz I used to feel when I stepped onto the field, but now with the perspective that sometimes the best things in life are unexpected.
